


My Darling Dutch

by Ineffable_Hannigram



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Death, Dutch isn't okay, Hosea's not technically in this, Hurt No Comfort, Letters, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 15:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_Hannigram/pseuds/Ineffable_Hannigram
Summary: A letter and what comes with it
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	My Darling Dutch

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure about how well this flows

_My darling Dutch,_

_If you’ve reading this, I am hoping that it is because I told you and not that you just stumbled across it. That's if I haven't left it for you to find. And if it is the first, then I must be dead. For that, I am sorry._

_We’re hitting the Saint Denis bank tomorrow and I find that I cannot sleep. The night is quiet, too late for anyone to be awake. You, of course, are snoring beside me; you always did fall asleep quick when we were together. I hadn’t expected you to show up in my room tonight but I am eternally grateful that you did, my dear. I have missed you so and the night feels a lot less lonely when I can hear your breathing beside me. Did you know you talk in your sleep? Have since the first time we slept near each other. I love listening to your musings, how they never fail to make me laugh._

_I love you._

_God, how I love you. We don’t say it enough, not anymore._

_Have we been drifting so much, my love?_

_Showing each other that we cared too little, I thought that it was okay, that it worked for us. I had never had a relationship like this. It scared me when we were boys, that this fragile thing was just a fling, would burn fast and bright before it fizzled out. Yet, here we are…_

_Ms O’Shea may have been warming your bed, but it’s me you would come to when everything became too much; even after all this time. I have your heart, and that knowledge is enough. I look at you now, with the moon shining over your face as you sleep, and my heart feels full._

_But I want to hate it. I want to hate you, so much. For everything that has happened in the last four months. Part of me understands that maybe it’s not your fault, that maybe there’s something else going on that neither of us will ever understand. Another part of me understands that you will not listen to anyone about Micah and how your plans are getting crazier and more reckless. You risk our family with every careless plan. We’ve lost so many; Jenny, Mac, Davey, Sean, Kieran and Arthur._

_Arthur’s sick, Dutch. Has been for a while now and I do not think that you can save him this time. Not from this. I cannot forgive you for how you have been treating our son, that little boy we raised as our own, the man you force to work and work and yet never praise. He admires you, dearest, he truly does, looks at you like you hung the moon and I understand what that’s like._

_You are out of this world, a god among us mortals and it is so easy to get caught up in your clutches; your love is the best feeling in the world, so gentle and ruthless. But it can not outlast this vicious streak you’ve had lately, burning down forests and crunching people in its wake._

_I love you so goddamn much, but this needs to stop. This thing with Micah needs to **Stop.** Before you crush the rest of our family beneath the weight of each failed plan._

_I want my Dutch back; the one who loved so fierce, the one I used to run hand -in-hand with while we laughed because we got caught with our hands in someone’s pocket. The young man who fought tooth and nail to make a better world for each and every ragtag child we adopted into our family._

_Maybe this is just the rambling of a tired old man, maybe this robbery will work and I am simply being nervous like usual. You say I worry too much…. I like to think I worry just enough for the both of us._

_You’re waking up, so I guess this is the end._

_If you are reading this and I didn’t make it, I want to say goodbye. Maybe I won’t be able to say it in person and you deserve something._

_I love you, if you don’t believe in anything else, believe in that. I don’t think I could ever stop, don’t really remember a time when I didn’t. You were my constant in a world where everything was too slick to grip._

_Live for me, dear-heart. If nothing else, live for me._

_Forever and always,_

_Your Dove, your Hosea._

Dutch runs a finger over the words for what must have been the thousandth time by now. Hosea’s elegant writing smudged in places from tears; both his own and Dutch’s.

It doesn’t matter how faint the pen gets, Dutch has the letter memorised by now, can tell you what it says without hesitation or pause. The words are ingrained in his mind like the face of the man who penned them. Never leaving, never wavering.

He recalls finding the letter when they got back from Guarma. His coat was wrapped around his shoulders and when he’s alone, he shoves his hands into his pockets, they hit something. He frowns but when he pulls out the burnt orange neckerchief a lump forms in his throat.

There’s a piece of folded paper and when he opens it, two smaller strips fall to the floor. He picks them up first, leaving the letter to his side. One piece is a newspaper scrap and Dutch reads it, letting out a weak laugh when he realises that it’s from when they were locked up in ’77.

He looks over the other next, it’s a picture, still glossy but obviously old. He feels as his throat constricts turning his laugh into a sob. The picture is of him and Hosea when they younger, grinning at the camera in silly dress up. He runs a thumb over Hosea’s face and watches as a tear hits the photo. He turns to the letter…

Dutch blinks, and he’s back in his tent in Beaver’s Hollow. It’s dark and the wind blows cold over his skin.

“I’m so sorry, Hosea. My love, I have failed you.”

He feels the tears again, hears as they hit the paper in his hands. He doesn’t wipe them away, just sighs and lies down, wishing that he wouldn’t wake up.


End file.
